Friday, September 9, 2011

Stations of Recreation

Pleasure is the bait of sin.

Plato

Around the second week of August, before Ian, aka Bama Boy, went back to school, we had some wind out at the lake accompanied by a faux rainstorm. My husband, Bama Boy, and I all sat in the living room looking out the window, thinking if it weren't so hot, 104 degrees, we might go swimming. Ian then noticed something large, that wasn't a boat, floating across the lake. We traded the binoculars to see that coming our direction was a renegade party barge. A Recreation Station.

Perfect. We were pumped. It was my birthday weekend. Oldest son Jacob and wife, Chelsea, were headed out to the lake for a special dinner. What could add to the weekend more than a place to sit, chat, slip off and swim, and float while celebrating?

The barge was due to land a few houses down at the point, so being the neighborly folks we are, Ian drove his truck down there and pulled it from the water as it hit shore.

Bob and Ian pondered their find.

Certainly they could stick it in the garage, clean it up, and next year put it out in front of our place like it was ours.

Or, we could anchor it out by our dock so that its true owners could find it while they swept the lake in search of their detached property.

Decided that was the more neighborly of the two choices. But we figured as long as it was anchored at our place, we could use it. Right? Make sure it stayed in working order?

Just as Bob and Ian hauled it out to the end of the dock and put together an anchor to secure it, a jet ski came up along the shore. The three of us swore, to ourselves, for surely these were the owners. Of course they were.

They pointed out where they lived down and across the lake and said we could come use the float anytime we wanted. We wondered if drinks and dinner were included, but we only nodded and retreated to the house, watching our Recreation Station bob along the waves back to its home. Our eyes teared up.

This past Sunday, the wind arrived at the lake. Big wind from Tropical Storm Lee. We had guests for the weekend and that night we spent our time on the dock, enjoying the cooler temperatures (92) offering relief from over 80 days of 100+ temperatures. White-capped waves crashed at the shore and the wind blew with wild abandon. One friend played the guitar and the rest of us sang along or drank our wine and talked. Over the wind, I heard my husband call out.

"Julie, look at this."

Lo and behold, guess what floated across the waves, directly to our dock. Recreation Station. You betcha - karma. We captured the beast and anchored it to the end of the dock, the wind tearing at the ropes. Secured. We glanced across the lake to the house where it lived. No lights. No one home. Cool.

Had to text Bama Boy to let him know our past effort wasn't in vain. That the party barge had returned to those who appreciated it. Fate now tied to our very own dock.

Through the night and all the next day the station rolled with the waves from the strong winds. When I woke up Tuesday morning, I found this scene. The winds gone and the Recreation Station still awaiting its owners to retrieve it.

16 comments:

How lovely to live on the edge of a lake. We have ridden on various lakes in the US and in Canada and the houses round seem to be in such a super position. Enjoy your ride on that boat thing - have never seen anything like it before.

That's just too funny! And here's hoping the recreation thingie sticks around not just for your bunco bitches, but forever! If not, maybe you should invest in one of your own. I can only imagine how much fun it must be to float around with friends and drinks, kind of like a hot tub on wheels!

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The present -- Onward! The Midlife Roadtripper continues the journey of the Midlife Jobhunter. I'm not quite certain if I'm still midlife, but I don't care. That's my name.

The beginning -- Accompanied by a stale resume in an even staler economic era, Midlife Jobhunter is a road trip toward the rediscovery of my own talents, abilities, gathered knowledge. Oh, yes, and the search for gainful employment. As I dust off my filing cabinet in search of the secondary high school English teaching certificate that expired 24 years ago, I embark on an adventure. I can’t look at it any differently than that, or it will overwhelm me.

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About Me

Julie Sucha Anderson (Julianne Anderson) is a mid-life writer of personal essays, short stories, and a novel and three-quarters. She is an editor and contributor to many publications including Grrl Talk - Sass, Wit, and Wisdom from the Austin WriterGrrls.